


i don't want to go

by dayevsphil



Series: lover dearest (amnesia au) [5]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Amnesia, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22527886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayevsphil/pseuds/dayevsphil
Summary: There are long-term effects of brain injuries, because of course there are. Phil’s got a list in his phone and on the fridge that Dan takes very seriously. It’s more or less a joke to Phil.
Relationships: Dan Howell/Phil Lester
Series: lover dearest (amnesia au) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1449553
Comments: 39
Kudos: 249





	i don't want to go

**Author's Note:**

> (taps microphone) are we back?

Phil has a migraine again.

It's not surprising with the amount of stimulus all around him, but it doesn't stop him from being annoyed by it. He bites his tongue and follows Dan through the shop, making noncommittal noises whenever he holds something up. Dan doesn't seem particularly bothered by Phil's lack of interest.

“Maybe not,” Dan is saying to himself, because he doesn't need Phil in order to carry a conversation.

“Why not?” Phil asks. He doesn't care, really, but he can't keep drifting like he's dreaming, Dan's solid presence the only real tether he's got.

Dan blinks like he's surprised that Phil is contributing. Phil tries not to be irritated by that. It's not fair to Dan when the source is at Phil's temples, behind his eyes, a constant throbbing pain that won't go away until he sleeps.

“We got her something like it a couple years ago,” Dan explains, putting the purse back where he got it from. “She still uses that one, seems silly to get her a new one already.”

“I think girls usually have a few bags,” says Phil.

“Yeah. Doesn't mean we need to supply her habit. Let's keep looking.”

Phil doesn't bother pointing out that he's never met Louise and has no idea what she likes, because Dan is on a mission. They've had to put off the shopping late thanks to check-ins at the hospital and sporadic, unsuccessful house showings with Ellie. Dan has done some shopping online already for both of them, but he’d insisted on at least one afternoon of walking around the shops and buying ridiculous stuff. Tradition, or whatever.

Normally Phil loves Christmas, and shopping for the people he loves is a huge part of that, but right now he just wants to go home and lie down with a heat pack over his eyes.

He locks his jaw so he doesn’t say something he’ll regret and lets Dan lead them through the narrow pathways that this small, overpriced boutique allows. Every time Phil idly tugs at a price tag he feels uncertain and undeserving and, okay, annoyed. That specific combination is more or less his default mood as of late, but it gets exacerbated when he has to deal with a lot of strangers or the familiar dull, insistent pulse of pain in his skull. He’s dealt with migraines his whole life, but they’ve gotten so much more consistent and painful. He’d been warned about that by one of his many doctors - it’s a fun little reminder that his brain doesn’t work the way it’s supposed to anymore.

If Phil said he has a migraine, Dan would take him home immediately. He’d turn off all the lights and shut the blinds and let Phil use his thigh as a pillow; the unscented candles would be lit and Dan’s long fingers would be petting Phil’s hair, rubbing his temples, helping the pain and irritation seep out of Phil’s body.

But, if Phil said he has a migraine, then Dan will also worry, and he will worry loudly. He’ll be quiet while he’s helping Phil, because he’s a good fiancé like that. A good _person_ like that - Phil is sure that Dan would do whatever he could to make anyone feel better, because he’s got a soft heart and relatively good intuition. Then, Phil will fall asleep, or the headache will release him for a little while, and that’s when Dan’s worry gets unbearably loud. Questions about how long it’s been hurting, reminders of things the specialist told them as if Phil wasn’t also in the room, maybe even phone calls if he considers it to be particularly worrisome.

He means well. Phil knows that he means well.

“Perfume isn’t really a good gift,” says Dan. Maybe he’s been talking the whole time that Phil’s been on another planet. There’s no real way to tell. “Not for Louise, she’s too particular.”

“If you say so,” says Phil. He squeezes his eyes shut while Dan’s back is turned, pressing the heel of each palm against them like he can somehow massage the headache away. He doesn’t do it for too long, doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, so after a couple of seconds he returns his hands to his pockets and does his best to ignore their tremor. 

\--

There are long-term effects of brain injuries, because of course there are. Phil’s got a list of them in his phone and on the fridge, and he’s supposed to say something to Dan or his doctors whenever he experiences them. Dan takes it all very seriously. It’s more or less a joke to Phil.

 _Memory loss_. Well, it hasn’t gotten worse, so Phil counts that as a win.

 _Loss of balance_. Seriously? Phil isn’t going to report every time he trips over his own feet, cracks in the sidewalk, nothing at all.

 _Mood swings._ Phil’s pretty sure that Dan keeps his own record of that, and he has to remind himself not to get grumpy about it or it’ll just be another goddamn entry in the Phil.exe Stopped Working log.

There are more than Phil can easily keep track of, and he’s sure that there are more things that his doctors and specialist and Dan are all watching for. It's frustrating, because he'd rather everything just go back to normal, and he's sure that Dan is only going to work himself up by looking for things that aren't inherently symptoms.

\--

Christmas used to be Phil’s favourite time of year. Nothing got him quite as excited as the smell of pine and his mum’s holiday baking. He can tell that Dan likes it too; Dan keeps dragging him places and showing him unfamiliar things and claiming tradition on it all. Phil’s got no reason to be suspicious, but he knows that _he_ would definitely use his fiancé’s lack of knowledge to his advantage, so there’s a part of him that sees six packets of mince pies in their trolley and wonders if he’s being screwed with.

It’s still nice, he supposes. They do up the tree and Dan shows him all their ornaments with the sort of soft dimpling that Phil fell in love with. Back in love with. Whatever. Their flat isn’t decked out the way that it would be if Phil took initiative, but he’s really struggling to muster up excitement for the holiday right now.

Dan notices. Obviously Dan notices. They spend every waking moment together, basically, and Dan knows him well. It would be stranger if he didn’t notice.

“You’ll feel better when we go see your folks,” Dan says, a sad sort of smile curving his pretty mouth. He’s wrapping presents, signing both of their names on all of them, and Phil feels downright useless. He didn’t pick anything out for their friends or families and he can’t even make a cube look as nice as Dan does. “It’s impossible not to be in the spirit around your mum, you know that.”

Familiar dread settles in Phil’s gut, and he shrugs. It’s easier to go back to his notebook than to explain that, actually, the last thing he wants right now is to see his family. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if it was just his parents and Martyn, but it won’t be.

His mum has already texted him a few times to tell him great aunt so-and-so is excited to see him again or that the younger kids in the family know what's going on with him and think it's 'so cool', so Phil is prepared for a deluge of extended family travelling to the Isle. He's never been good at being the center of attention, and he's really not looking forward to an entire week of the What Does Phil Remember game. Even the thought of having Dan with him, celebrating together and being _out_ , something Phil can barely wrap his head around, isn't enough to ease the anxiety.

Dan is looking forward to it, though, and Phil feels guilty for not wanting to spend time with his family, so. He doesn't say anything.

Instead, he turns back to his notebook. He finds things slipping through his fingers so much more easily now than they used to, and he isn’t sure if that’s from the brain injury or from getting old, but he hates it either way. Scribbling things down helps, sometimes, even if it isn’t full sentence journalling. Lots of doodles and half-thoughts mixed in with actually useful things; he’d had a list of potential gifts to get for people that he turned out not to need.

He’s sure that if he’d insisted on picking something out himself, Dan would have been more than supportive. The thing is, Phil is too busy fighting his own body to put effort into talking the world’s most opinionated man out of a bucket hat for Martyn. Dan knows better, anyway.

Maybe that rankles more than Phil wants to admit. Maybe this whole thing, really, rankles.

Phil doesn’t like getting angry. It happens, frequently, but he doesn’t enjoy the feeling. He should be able to enjoy this. He’s got a mug of cocoa and the beginning doodles of a storyboard and a gorgeous man wrapping presents under a gorgeous tree, and it’s his favourite time of the year. If anything, he should be happy. Ecstatic. Grateful.

There’s pressure at Phil’s temples again, and he feels that bubble of anger start to swell. It fills him like a helium balloon from the depths of hell, hot and all-encompassing and sudden.

He closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his teeth. If Dan asks, he’ll just say that he’s tired. He uses that line a lot lately. It’s obvious that Dan doesn’t believe him, and Phil doesn’t make any particular effort to sound more genuine, but Dan hasn’t pushed him on it yet.

That’s good. Phil thinks it’s good, anyway. He doesn’t like being angry, and he doesn’t want to know how it feels to shout at Dan again.

He doesn’t like it, but he is. He is angry. He is _so_ goddamn angry.

\--

There are good days, even in the guilty stress of Christmas planning. There are days where Phil can tangle up with Dan and trade lazy kisses, days where he can go to Starbucks alone, days where his mum calls and they talk about everything under the sun just like they used to. Sure, Phil has to be careful not to touch Dan in ways that are instinctive but not welcome, careful to text Dan every ten minutes when he’s out by himself, careful about what he says to his mum so that she doesn’t start to cry, but those aren’t hardships, exactly, and they don’t make Phil’s good days any less good. It’s just harder and harder to brush them off.

It’s like a parasite, the anger. Even when it’s dormant, Phil feels twinges of irritation to things he normally doesn’t mind at all. The sound of Dan humming when he’s puttering around the kitchen is something he’s loved for as long as he can remember, and now it takes actual effort for pre-coffee Phil not to snap at him or leave the room.

Today is a good day. There are no lingering traces of an ache in Phil’s broken head, his parents aren’t adding any stress to his plate, and he can remember why he loves the annoying things Dan does.

Phil is trailing after Dan again, but that’s because he’s been doubled over laughing at something Dan muttered under his breath and they’re trying not to catch each other’s eye so they don’t bust up again. He follows Dan, reluctantly, into an aisle and starts poking at all the health food packages as if they’re suspicious.

“You like quinoa, stupid,” Dan giggles. He gently smacks at Phil’s hands, and Phil tangles their fingers together. It’s just for a moment, because Dan is actually attempting to shop for healthy food despite Phil’s best efforts, but it makes Phil feel lighter than air. He can hold a guy’s hand, however briefly, in a grocery aisle. He can just do that. It’s terrifying and exhilarating every time he does it, and he can’t help but look around them in a wary move that’s ingrained into him no matter what Dan tells him about things changing.

Nobody is paying them any mind at all. The giddiness in his chest spreads through his whole body, and Phil decides that he wants to feel this way all the time. He knows that it isn’t logical, that his life right now has serious stumbling blocks and that he can’t control the mood swings, but he’s old enough to know that optimism is a conscious choice he has to keep making or he’ll become someone he doesn’t like at all.

He wanders off while Dan reads ingredients on something new he wants to try and manages to add three more snacks to the cart before Dan notices.

\--

“Are you gonna tell me what’s going on in there?” 

Dan’s voice is quiet and his fingers are running through Phil’s hair. He never comments on the length of it, on the fact that Phil is obviously growing it out, but Phil does wonder if it bothers some part of him. If Dan thinks he’s regressing, or clinging to the parts of himself he can control. Phil doesn’t even have a good rebuttal for that.

“In where?” Phil asks. He’s sleepier than he wants to admit and stubbornly ignoring the way his eyes keep drifting shut. He wants to finish this movie, at least, before he hauls Dan off to bed for a good cuddle.

Dan chuckles softly and gathers Phil’s fringe up to kiss his forehead without a barrier.

“Stupid,” he says, absolutely oozing with fondness. Phil wants to curl up in Dan’s love like a blanket sometimes, a safe haven from the rest of the world. “There's something going on in here.”

His long fingers tap Phil’s forehead, so gentle, and the puzzle pieces click together in Phil’s very tired mind. He laughs and turns his face further into Dan’s shoulder. There’s a million reasons he should keep his feelings to himself, but Dan has a way of slipping past all of Phil’s walls. Right now, in this moment, Phil can’t remember a single one of those million reasons. He yawns and buries his nose into Dan’s collarbone. The trace of mint and musk clinging to Dan’s skin makes him feel even calmer.

This is a safe haven. Phil isn’t much of a talker when it comes to his feelings, but he wants to tell Dan what’s going on with him. He wants to be the kind of husband who can answer that question instead of bottling everything up until it explodes.

“I don’t wanna go away for Christmas,” he whispers it like a secret, right into Dan’s chest.

For a long moment, Dan is quiet. Only the pause of his fingers in Phil’s hair indicate that he heard Phil at all.

“Why?”

There’s hurt and bewilderment in Dan’s voice, because of course there is. Phil is too tired to feel a proper frisson of irritation, but he can’t hold back a sigh. He presses the softest kiss to Dan’s collarbone and comes up to give him a sleepy smile. “Sorry,” he says. “I just mean I want to stay here with you forever.”

It’s the truth, but it’s not the whole truth. Phil watches the quiet confusion in Dan’s big brown eyes turn to mush before he rolls them.

“Alright, if you’re bringing up the F word,” says Dan, “then it’s definitely bedtime.”

“You have a lot of F words,” Phil notes. His smile feels more genuine now. “Famous, forever…”

Dan shudders dramatically and presses his fingers into Phil’s ticklish sides to make him laugh, too loud for the time of night.

“Fuck you,” Dan says, dimples in full force. “C’mon. Bed.”

“There’s still like half an hour left,” Phil protests. He doesn’t actually care much about the ending of the movie, but it’s fun to dig his heels in and get Dan all fond and exasperated. He can’t bite back his grin fast enough.

“You don’t care,” Dan laughs and stands up, turning off the TV sometime in the process. Phil is very impressed by the multitasking.

“I don’t,” Phil agrees. He’s all too happy to leave the topic of Christmas on the sofa, in the twinkling lights of their objectively very pretty tree. He pulls Dan into a soft, lingering kiss and then gestures at the ceiling as if it’s an explanation. “Mistletoe,” he says, and then darts around Dan to get to the bathroom first.

They haven’t hung any mistletoe. Dan’s bark of a laugh follows him through the quiet, dark flat and makes every corner of it feel brighter.

\--

In the morning, Dan looks up from his phone. “Were you serious about not going anywhere for Christmas?”

Phil hasn’t had his coffee and there’s a twinge behind his left eye, so all he can really manage to do without scowling is shake his head. It seems to be the answer Dan was looking for, anyway, since it makes his shoulders relax and his lips curve up a bit. Phil feels a little guilty for lying and some irrational annoyance at Dan for not being able to tell, but he focuses on his coffee and on that pretty pink patch on Dan’s cheek to ground himself.

\--

Through his whole life, Phil has never liked hospital or being prodded at by doctors, but he’d gotten off easy before now. He’s found himself sitting on a flat mattress or an uncomfortable chair in the past six months far more often than he ever wanted to. They run tests and they ask him questions and never figure anything out.

It’s a surefire way to get Phil’s migraines to make an appearance. The combination of fluorescent lights, difficult conversation, and stress from the lack of any progress hasn’t failed to make it feel like someone is jackhammering his frontal lobe yet.

Dan has a hard time sitting still at the best of times, so he tends to pace around the room whenever they have these appointments. Even so, he manages to hold the thread of what the doctors say better than Phil can. It’s probably important for Phil to be paying attention to what his neurologist is saying, since he’s here to follow up with her after his last episode, but Phil is having such a hard time concentrating lately. Especially when it’s the same stuff, over and over again: they don’t know what’s causing this, common things keep getting ruled out, he’s a mystery but he’s not in any danger, etc.

They’re starting to sound like Charlie Brown’s parents to Phil at this point. He relies on Dan to tell him the important bits later.

Normally the various doctors he’s seen since he first fainted haven’t minded if he zones out a bit. They call it a symptom and say his concentration isn’t going to be what it used to be, don’t accept Dan’s apologies for it, but the truth is that Phil just can’t listen to them talk about him like they’re verbally shrugging and not lose his entire mind. Today, though, his neurologist makes a point of getting his attention.

“Phil,” she says, and Phil realises that he doesn’t actually know her name.

“Sorry, what?”

She doesn’t sigh, but Phil imagines it’s a close call. Dan stops his pacing around the room and stands with his arms crossed and brow furrowed, giving his full attention even though he isn’t being spoken to.

“Phil,” she says again. “How are you feeling?”

“About what?” Phil asks.

Her lips twitch. “In general. I know this whole experience must be a lot for you, and I was wondering if you were talking to anyone about it.”

“I talk to you guys,” says Phil, gesturing around her office to indicate the doctors as a whole. “And to Dan, and my family.”

Phil doesn’t make a habit of lying to his doctors, but he hates that it does feel like a lie to say he talks to his family about his feelings. They’re just… in mourning, basically, for someone that Phil will probably never be again. Dan is too, but he’s a lot more open and easy to talk to. He sees Dan’s eyebrows raise at the answer and has to hold back a giggle.

“I was actually asking if you’re in the process of seeing a psychiatrist,” the neurologist clarifies. Phil’s brief amusement from the exchange sours quickly. He’s not sure what the doctor and Dan see on his face, but she’s quick to keep talking. “You’ve gone through a trauma, Phil, and it’s very normal to struggle with it. Talking to someone unbiased and professional can be a helpful way to wrap your mind around what you’re going through.”

There’s something she isn’t saying, as well. Phil hears it anyway. He has a suspicion that his doctors think his memories could come back if he goes to therapy, like he’s repressed them or something instead of them being stolen from him.

Phil doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to keep the frustration out of his voice if he does.

“That’s a good idea,” Dan says, more to Phil than to the doctor.

Of course Dan thinks it’s a good idea. Dan goes to therapy and enjoys it. Well, okay, ‘enjoy’ is a strong word. It benefits Dan, gives him tools that he can use on days where getting out of bed feels impossible, gives him an emotional outlet that he desperately needs. Dan feels things so strongly and so deeply that it scares Phil, sometimes.

Phil… doesn’t. He’s got better things to do with his time than worry about the why and how of every fleetingly wayward emotion - he’d rather push it down, move past it, on his own time. He imagines spilling his guts to a complete stranger and almost laughs. He can’t even tell his mother how he feels about being treated like a circus freak or tell his fiancé how he feels about celebrating Christmas this year. Hell, Phil doesn’t even tell waitstaff when they bring him the wrong thing. It’s funny to picture him laid on a sofa and laying out his whole life for someone to poke and prod at.

He knows he’s still making a face, and he sees something in Dan’s shutter. Phil taps his own knee at the same time that Dan taps his own finger against his forearm. One, two. _We’ll talk about this later_.

“Can I ask something that might sound a bit rude?”

“You can ask anything you’d like,” Phil’s neurologist says. She looks inordinately surprised by him even offering to speak, which almost makes Phil laugh again.

“Well, I just,” Phil starts. He doesn’t like the way Dan is staring daggers at him like he’s waiting for Phil to make a wrong move. Purposefully, he angles his body away from Dan to talk directly to the doctor. “I just want to know. Are we running out of things to do here? On the medical side of things, I mean. Is this a last resort, might as well try it, sort of thing? Or do you genuinely think that my brain will work better if I let someone analyze it every week?”

Dan makes some kind of noise. Phil ignores it.

“I believe that psychiatry is a very important tool for recovery in many of my patients,” she says. To Phil, that sounds a lot like a non-answer. He’s pretty well-versed in those himself.

“Okay,” he says, trying to keep his tone level. “So you think this is all in my head?”

“Only in the sense that your head is where you keep your brain,” she says, rather kindly. “And your brain has been through a lot. Traumatic brain injuries can affect you months and even years after the original incident, and I was only suggesting that you consider an avenue that has helped others with symptoms and difficulties following such an enormous thing.”

“I don’t have any difficulties,” Phil says, stubborn. He can feel Dan’s gaze and already knows what he’s thinking, but this isn’t a knee-jerk reaction. He doesn’t think he needs to go to therapy.

“It’s up to you, entirely your decision,” she says, which makes a tense part of Phil relax. He knows that logically, but his anxiety appreciates it being said out loud. “I’ll give you some reading to take home about the benefits of therapy while your brain is in recovery mode, okay? Take some time to think about it before you dismiss it.”

The topic changes to something about blood work that Phil has already heard, so he feels comfortable zoning back out. 

He chances a glance at Dan, who is practically vibrating with things that he’s surely desperate to say. Phil taps his own knee again to circumvent the argument happening in front of one of his doctors and watches as Dan’s jaw clenches.

\--

 _Irritability_. Phil keeps his eyes fixed on the window in the backseat of their Uber so he doesn’t have to look at Dan. He’s got a throb in his temple and every time Dan makes a noise like he’s about to talk, it makes irrational annoyance spike through Phil. He doesn’t want to snap, but he thinks he might if Dan actually speaks to him. Luckily, the drive is without incident.

 _Anxiety_. Well, Phil already had that going for him, so there’s no way to tell if the brain injury made it worse. The silence between them in the lift lassos Phil’s Worst Case Scenario thoughts into the forefront of his mind. What if Dan has finally had enough of this?

 _Impaired social skills_. The door shuts behind them and Dan turns to face him, hands on his hips. Phil lingers for four whole seconds and then murmurs something about taking a nap, escaping downstairs.

Phil lies on his stomach with his face buried in Dan’s pillow and wonders exactly how many side effects he can check off today. He’s clearly already fucked things up.

\--

Obviously, Dan doesn’t let him get away with wallowing alone.

“We’re talking now,” he says, firm. Phil noses further into the pillow for a moment and considers not responding. It isn’t that he wants to make Dan angry, it’s that he doesn’t want to get angry himself, and staying quiet seems like the most effective way to stay calm.

He knows Dan won’t accept that, though. Dan isn’t the type to walk away from Phil, no matter what mood he’s in.

So Phil sighs, rolling onto his back. “I don’t want to go.”

“I can tell,” Dan huffs. “I really think you should, though. Therapy is -”

“No,” Phil cuts him off. He interrupts Dan more often than he interrupts anyone else - due in part to the sheer amount of time that Dan spends talking - but he never likes doing it when they’re having a serious conversation. His head hurts, though, and he can’t lie here and listen to Dan espouse all the wonderful things about getting psychoanalyzed when that’s only a little bit what this is about. “No, Dan, I’m not just talking about therapy.”

A beat. The mattress dips where Dan sits down, but they don’t reach for each other yet. “Okay. What else are you talking about?”

“I don't want to go to the Isle,” Phil tells the ceiling, because that's easier than watching the disappointment crest over Dan's face. “I don’t want everybody asking me questions and looking older and making me feel like I’m broken. I get enough of that here.”

“Excuse me?” Dan asks, and Phil squeezes his eyes shut like he won’t be able to hear the hurt in Dan’s voice if he can’t see. Dan’s palm presses to his thigh, making him jump a bit. “Phil, hey, no. Look at me.”

Phil bites his lip and sits up. He takes a couple of breaths before he opens his eyes, though, letting his anxiety run rampant on what kind of emotions he’s going to see in Dan’s big brown eyes when he does. In the end, it’s primarily confusion. The bad things are there, too, the hurt and disappointment and maybe anger, but it seems like Dan is mostly just unsure why Phil is saying the things he’s saying.

“I don’t want to see my family,” Phil whispers, swallowing around the guilt rising like bile in his throat.

“You love your family,” says Dan. “And you love Christmas.”

“I do,” Phil agrees. His voice is still quiet, like someone other than Dan might hear him if he says it any louder. Dan’s mouth twists unhappily. He tangles his fingers with Phil’s and squeezes, just on the edge of too tight.

“So what’s the deal? I don’t understand.” The admission seems to take something out of Dan. He curls closer to Phil and rests the back of his free hand against Phil’s forehead.

“I don’t have a fever, Dan,” says Phil. He doesn’t duck away from the attention, though, because Dan pushes his fringe off his forehead and leans in to kiss it. The simple action quiets the noise in Phil’s mind so much that he smiles a little bit. “And I’m not going to fucking break, y’know, but I might if I have to be around so many people I barely even know anymore while my head pounds and they act like I’m a teenager.”

Something like comprehension hits Dan’s expression, but he still isn’t happy. “You do know them, though.”

“Not really,” Phil says with a little shrug. “I love them. I’d rather see them separately, though. I don’t want to feel like an animal in a zoo or something, babe.”

“So, what, you want to just stay home?” Dan asks.

His tone makes it sound like that’s ridiculous, unheard of. Phil looks down at their joined hands and lets himself really think about it. What would his family really do if he claimed not to be up for travelling? They’d be disappointed, obviously, and some of them might lay the guilt on a little strong, but.

But. Phil can see it. Christmas morning in this bed, legs tangled with Dan’s and trading lazy bribes for who has to get up and make coffee. Giving Dan his gift under the tree they decorated together, watching the way he’d light up, doing sappy things like dancing to carols in a kitchen they don’t own. It sounds infinitely better than his cousins asking him questions he doesn’t know the answer to and trying not to jump every time Dan holds his hand in front of family members.

“I do,” Phil says, as honest as he knows how to be. “You’re my family, you dork. I want to spend Christmas with you.”

“I’ll be with you wherever we go,” Dan reminds him.

Phil knows that, but it isn’t the same. He doesn’t have to play a role when it’s just him and Dan. He can be a little grumpy and headachy without being paraded around afterwards. He can feel a sense of himself in his favourite holiday instead of forcing himself into a role that he isn’t sure suits him anymore.

“The whole thing has been making me anxious for, like, weeks,” Phil admits. Dan’s brow furrows, but Phil doesn’t have the energy to feel bad for keeping that from him. “I want a lowkey Christmas. I want to just… spend the day with you and make our own traditions and give you the only present I was able to pick out myself. I don’t want to deal with coming out or, I dunno, hearing about all the tragedies I’ve been so fucking lucky to miss out on being around for. I’ll have a headache all week, Dan, and you must know that.”

For a long moment, Dan doesn’t say anything. He raises their joined hands to his mouth and presses soft kisses over the back of Phil’s hand.

“I didn’t know that,” Dan says, quiet. The disappointment is still obvious in his expressive eyes. Phil is fairly sure that Dan couldn’t hide genuine emotion if he tried.

Phil thinks about Dan teasing his mum over not being able to find an app, trading friendly jabs with his dad, making his brother laugh so hard that he’d doubled over at the table, and he realises that this is disappointing to Dan for more than the standard reasons.

He doesn’t know much about Dan’s family - only as much as Dan is willing to share on any given day, which is barely anything at all - but he knows how Dan feels about _Phil’s_ family. Now he’s got a whole new guilt complex. Maybe he ought to suck it up, for Dan’s sake, so that Dan can spend Christmas getting spoiled rotten by Phil’s parents and he can know what it feels like to be loved unconditionally.

“I’ll tell you what,” says Phil. He squeezes Dan’s hand. “If you stay home this Christmas with me, and maybe do dinner with your family or with our friends instead of travelling, then I’ll go to therapy. I won’t even complain.”

Dan makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob and rubs at his eyes with his free hand. “You will,” he says.

“I will,” Phil agrees with a sheepish smile. “But… this is what I want. And I’m sorry.”

“I’ll think about it,” says Dan. Phil has been living in this flat long enough to know that _I’ll think about it_ is basically an acquiescence from Dan, since he tends to make his mind up quick and firm. Dan must see that relief on Phil’s face, because he laughs and leans in for a kiss. “Okay, okay, it’s a good deal. I can even recommend a therapist.”

\--

Phil understands why Dan feels comfort here as soon as he sits down. The small office has cushy chairs and a neutral palette, surely designed to put anyone at ease. Phil can see the personal details around it that he _knows_ helped Dan specifically, though. The bookshelf, overflowing with biographies and small giraffe statues; the diplomas bracketing a framed vinyl that Phil doesn’t recognise but is certain that Dan appreciates; the friendly fern in the corner that practically waves at him when the door opens and shuts.

“Hi, Phil,” the young woman says. Her tone is polite but warm, less like a customer service agent and more like a friend of a friend. Her thin dark braids are pulled up into some sort of updo that looks extremely complicated to Phil at a glance. She’s wearing blue jeans and a blouse with birds on it, and Phil can’t help but point to the pattern on his own shirt.

“We match,” he jokes weakly. Surely she can only see his collar, because Dan’s borrowed jacket is obscuring most of his own birds, but she smiles anyway.

“That’s a funny coincidence,” she says, taking a seat. She’s almost directly across from him, but Phil can see the light filtering through the blinds and the happy leaves of her fern clearly if he doesn’t want to look her in the eye. “I’m Robin.”

“I knew that already,” says Phil. He can’t help the apologetic edge, even if he’s not sure what he’s apologising for. Knowing her name? Being here? Imposing on what should be Dan’s space because he’s more broken than he originally thought and doesn’t know how to trust a stranger? Phil wants to verbalise exactly zero percent of that, so he shrugs his shoulders to indicate that he’s sorry and doesn’t want to acknowledge being sorry.

There’s a moment of silence, but Phil doesn’t feel the need to fill it. He wonders if that’s her tactic with Dan, giving him as much opportunity to spill his guts as she possibly can. That probably works well enough for him. The silence just sort of makes Phil itchy.

Finally, Robin nods. She fiddles with her phone for a moment before placing it face-down on the arm of her chair. There’s a notebook in her lap, but she doesn’t open it.

“Okay, so,” she starts, and Phil has to look down at his own hands so he doesn’t look right in her wide, dark eyes. This is nerve-wracking enough without eye contact added onto it. “Today, you and I are just going to get to know each other a little bit. You’ll get a feel for the process more quickly than you’d expect. I’d just like to go over our confidentiality agreement with you first, if that’s alright.”

Phil nods back at her, eyes still glued to his chewed-down nails.

There’s a voice, and surely words are said, but Phil doesn’t retain any of it. He feels a familiar stirring of anger and does his best to ignore it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, genuine. He looks at her mouth to try and really _see_ the words that she’s trying to say. He knows that they’re important, knows that they can’t move forward with this until he hears them. “Can you repeat that? I didn’t…”

He trails off, but Robin smiles encouragingly anyway. “Of course I can, Phil. If I ever say anything that you need me to repeat or if I’m moving too quickly for you, just let me know. And always remember that interrupting me is totally fine, I don’t mind. You’re the one in control here.”

“Thank you.”

Phil kind of wants to make a joke about her interruption rule and Dan, but despite Robin’s assurance of control, he’s not sure that he’d be allowed to. He’s still working through that thought process when he realises that her mouth has stopped moving again and she’s watching him so carefully.

It’s hard not to jump to immediate anger and embarrassment, but Phil swallows those down with his pride and says, “I’m really, I’m so sorry. I didn’t… understand again.”

Robin hums and opens her notebook. For a heart-stopping couple of seconds, Phil is convinced that she’s writing horrible things about him for her colleagues to read later. Of course, that doesn’t happen - the things that Phil’s anxiety convinces him of rarely do - and instead, she simply hands him a ripped-out page. It takes a couple of tries for Phil’s head to stop swimming before he can actually read it.

“That’s our confidentiality clause,” Robin says easily. “Take as much time as you need to absorb it, and then let me know if you have any questions.”

There’s a lump in Phil’s throat at the kind gesture, and he has to take a deep breath before he can focus on the words. He’s never been to therapy before, but nothing about the confidentiality part of it is surprising to him. He can understand, at least, why they have to go over it, and he’s grateful that it’s in plain words for him. 

“I don’t have any questions,” he says. He holds the paper out, but Robin shakes her head.

“You can keep that, if you’d like.”

Robin doesn’t say _in case you forget again_ or _because you need it_. Phil folds the paper into one of Dan’s jacket pockets. 

“There’s not a clock in here,” Phil notices. He’d wanted to see how long it took him to absorb such simple information, but it’s kind of a relief not to be able to find one. “I don’t really like clocks.”

“Neither do I,” Robin says, and he thinks she’s just trying to relate to him until she shudders and adds, “They remind me of exams, you know? And watching it tick down gives me some anxiety.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

“I keep time on my phone,” she explains, tapping a short fingernail against the back of her phone case. “A quiet beep is going to go off every fifteen minutes so that we both have a better structure of the hour we have together. If that bothers you, I have other methods of timekeeping that don’t involve watching a second hand tick down.”

“That doesn’t bother me,” Phil says honestly. Robin smiles at him in an encouraging sort of way, but he doesn’t have anything he wants to add.

The beat of quiet is left on purpose, he’s sure, before Robin speaks again. “Alright, Phil, let’s get to know each other a little bit. I’d also like to hear what you’re looking to get out of this experience, since I understand the goal here is to be referred to someone permanently?”

Phil doesn’t know about ‘permanently’. He nods anyway.

“Yeah, I think… I thought it would be helpful to see you, since you’re,” he says, and then he can’t figure out how he wants to end the sentence. Since she knows him already, sort of, and knows the situation, and because Dan trusts her and Phil trusts Dan. He decides to finish his thought instead of bothering to find the right words. He’s sure that Robin is smart enough to fill in some blanks herself. “But I know it would be weird for Dan if I kept seeing you. He didn’t say it would be weird, but. It would be. I figured this would be a good…”

He trails off again, twiddling his thumbs, and this time Robin makes a suggestion. “Stepping stone?”

“Yeah, kind of. Is that bad?”

“Nothing you say is bad,” Robin says, almost as if it’s knee-jerk. “I think it’s very telling of how considerate you are, actually. I do a lot of intake for referrals, which you might know or might not, so this isn’t a strange situation for me. I imagine it’s stranger for you.”

Phil laughs. “A little bit, yeah. I don’t really know… what to do.”

“Why don’t you start by telling me a little bit about yourself,” says Robin. She closes the notebook and sets it aside, absent-minded body language that already makes Phil feel more comfortable. It feels less like he’s being analyzed when there isn’t the chance of her scribbling down things he says.

“You already know a lot about me, though. Probably more than I do.”

“I think,” Robin says, and then takes a moment to think before she continues. “I think, Phil, that you’ve had enough people telling you who you are. I want to know who you think you are.”

Another lump in his throat. Phil swallows hard and looks at the fern in the corner, because that’s easier than looking Robin in the eye. There are a lot of things he could say about his sense of who he is and about how it’s felt to be told about himself for the past few months, but all of it feels too personal. He knows that’s what he’s here to do, to talk about his feelings, but that doesn’t mean he’s comfortable with it.

“I’m Phil,” he tells the plant. “I like Buffy and making videos and I really want a dog but I have to buy a house first.”

\--

 _Fatigue_. It’s impossible to tell if it’s a symptom or a deep-seated desire to keep Dan in bed longer when Phil has a hard time waking up on Christmas morning. He presses his weight against Dan and nuzzles into his sensitive neck and pretends like he’s not on the verge of falling back asleep at any moment.

 _Reduced concentration span_. Phil has to look at the first couple pages of the scrapbook a few times before it really sinks in. Even then, he still can’t focus on the words. He understands what he’s looking at, sees the Skype usernames and the timestamps from 2009 and his own familiar use of emoticons, but he can’t actually read it right now. He’s too overwhelmed by the gesture. Overwhelmed, too, by how gorgeous Dan looks in his long shirt and bunny slippers and curls an absolute mess and dimples so deep that Phil wants to poke at them. He can’t help but launch himself at Dan in a move that feels, somehow, familiar.

 _Impulsiveness_. Phil might not be an expert on picking presents for his friends or family members anymore, but he knows Dan now. Dan’s fingers are shaky as they flatten out the flight confirmations, and his voice is even shakier when he says, “Tokyo?”

There’s a list of symptoms on their fridge. For the first time since it was put there, Phil doesn’t feel like he’s under a microscope. It’s a good Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much to cat, chicken, puddle, jude, everyone who has been so patient with me over the past few months.


End file.
